


Impasse

by FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf)



Series: Fortune Favour Me [23]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 17:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/FenHarelMaGhilana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No Anoras were harmed in the making of this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impasse

She’d never felt comfortable in Arl Eamon’s study, not at Redcliffe and certainly not in Denerim. It reminded her too much of her father’s study in their Denerim house — cold, draughty and somewhat dusty. The servants could never reach every nook and cranny in the place, and the books always had such long, unpronounceable, boring titles. Eilin had never stayed in there longer than a few minutes at a time, for the unfamiliarity of the place disturbed her.

Arl Eamon rose when she came in, out of breath and clutching the documents she’d found in the alienage.

“Slavers,” she said, before Eamon could speak. “In the alienage.”

“Maker’s breath.” The arl put down his quill and gestured for Eilin to have a seat. She shook her head, aware of her dusty armour and the stains on her tunic. She hadn’t taken the time to change beforehand.

“This is Loghain’s signature,” Eilin continued, and turned to the last page, where a red wax seal was affixed to the paper. “Just here. I …found these. There were Tevinter slavers, rounding up all the elves. Selling them …it was — “ she stopped.  _Terrible_  seemed a mild word to describe what she had seen.

Eamon shook his head in disgust. “Maker forgive me, but I am relieved we have something to use against Loghain at the Landsmeet.”

Eilin bit her tongue to keep her angry reply to herself. Instead she watched in silence as Eamon locked the papers in a strongbox and put them away in his desk.

“The Queen needs to know this,” she said finally, when he had pocketed the key. “And so should Alistair. Where is he?”

“I saw him speaking with Anora last.” Eamon gestured to the elven servant hovering at the door. “I will send for him in a moment, but I wished to speak with you beforehand.”

The servant left the room and returned a few minutes later with two glasses of wine, one of which he handed to Eilin. She couldn’t look at him as she took it. After seeing the state of the alienage, after hearing the accusation in the elven girl Shianni’s tone.

 _You don’t know what it’s like for us. We’re your servants, your labourers, your disposable_ things _…_

“Your father was always respected in the Landsmeet,” Eamon said, and Eilin turned her attention back to him. “Your support will also count for a great deal. I notice that you haven’t expressed a particular opinion on the matter of the succession.”

Eilin didn’t bother feigning ignorance. “I’m a Grey Warden.”

“You were a Cousland before you were a Grey Warden. And it’s you who has made all of this possible.” Eamon set his glass down and regarded Eilin over his steepled hands until she met his gaze.

“Alistair will need your support,” he added quietly.

“I will provide him with whatever support he requires.”

The words sounded stiff, formal — alien. Eilin arranged her expression into one of neutrality. The wine had done nothing to dull her suspicions; Eamon wanted something from her. But what?

“There will be hard times ahead,” Eamon continued. His fingers tapped on the wine glass, and he kept shooting glances at Eilin as if to gauge her reaction to his words. “If the Landsmeet rules in our favour, Alistair will eventually be crowned king. You know this, of course.”

_Yes, I do… and your point is?_

“In time he will need to marry to strengthen his claim, and he must have heirs.”

“I don’t see how that’s a concern of mine,” Eilin said, a little sharply.

Eamon raised his eyebrows at her over the rim of his glass. “Oh? Well, I suppose being a Grey Warden, your order are discouraged from marrying. And children are…out of the question, yes?”

Eilin began to rise, but he waved her back down. “It is not appropriate of me to discuss this with you. I did speak with Alistair earlier about the possibility of an alliance. If he and Anora were to marry, perhaps the Landsmeet would be willing to — “ he stopped as the door swung open and Alistair stepped in. “And here he is. Alistair, come in, lad. We have much to discuss.”

Alistair looked slightly disheveled, like he’d run across half the house before reaching the study, and his hair was wet.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed, and shut the door hurriedly behind him. “What happened at the alienage? Did you find anything?”

“I did,” Eilin said stiffly, and stood up. “I’ll leave Arl Eamon to fill you in on the details. It seems you have a conversation to continue.” Without another word she brushed past Alistair and left the room.

She felt their eyes on her until she turned into the next corridor.

 

                                         

* * *

 

 

Walking out of the room in a huff was childish, but Eilin wasn’t in the mood to care. She wanted silence and solace and a few hours away from politics.

Once back in her room she stripped off her dusty clothes and threw them on the floor in a pile, then sponged herself down with tepid water as quickly as she could. She didn’t bother washing her hair. Shaking out the dust and brushing it would have to do for now, and it was too bloody cold to risk catching a chill by dunking her head in the wash basin.

She was pulling on a fresh tunic when someone knocked on her door.

It was Alistair, of course. Eilin let him in silently and turned away to pick up her clothes and armour. He sat on the bed and watched her for a few minutes until the silence became unbearable.

“Are you alright?”

Eilin stopped in the middle of wiping her breastplate. For a moment she bent over the basin, chewing her lip, wondering if it would be best to pretend everything was fine. Put a smile on her face, hug him, tell him she was just tired and she would be alright tomorrow.

She’d never lied to him before, but once wouldn’t hurt.

Alistair’s hand on the back of her neck made her jump, and she felt his breath tickling her ear as he took the wash cloth and armour from her hands. “Let me do that, love. I’ve been sitting around with absolutely nothing to do all day.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d talked to Arl Eamon about marrying Anora?”

Alistair paused with his hands hovering over the basin, wringing out the cloth. Eilin stepped back, hands folded, and watched the expressions play over his face.

“We haven’t,” he said eventually, his face turned away. “Not really. Eamon mentioned it once, that’s all.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Eilin said cuttingly. “Well, if that’s all.”

If Alistair heard the sarcasm he didn’t react; he had his back to her as he cleaned the dust off her breastplate.

“You didn’t ask me what I said,” he said after a few long minutes of silence. “Don’t you want to know?”

 _No._  “I suppose.”

“I said I would give it some thought,” Alistair continued, and set the breastplate down. He tossed the cloth in the washbasin and sat down.

“So you should,” Eilin said, while she picked up her dirty clothes. “Anora is very popular with the people, she’s beautiful and intelligent, and she’s done a lot for the country. You would be a great match.”

“Is that what you really think?”

When Eilin didn’t answer, Alistair grasped her shoulder and turned her towards him, cupping her face when she looked away. “Is that what you think, Eilin?”

“I don’t know,” she said miserably.

“That I should marry my — my brother’s wife, and you and me — what about us?”

“I don’t know!” Eilin shoved him away, turning her face away as her expression crumpled. “I don’t know. Stop asking me what I think. It doesn’t matter what I think.”

 _This is stupid_ , she berated herself. You’re being a child. And yet the tears still came, blurring her vision and staining her cheeks and making her chest heave with stifled sobs. Upset she might be, but she wouldn’t resort to blubbering. She still had some bloody dignity left.

Alistair usually had the sense to leave her alone around this time. He knew how much she hated crying, especially in front of him — in front of anyone, really. But when she began to quieten he was still kneeling in front of her, his hand resting on her knee.

“I don’t want to marry Anora,” he said, when Eilin quietened. “I want you. I don’t want anyone else.”

“You’re making this hard.”

“No, I’m not.” Alistair kissed her forehead, his hands tangling in her hair. “You’re so bloody stubborn. Did I ever tell you that?”

Eilin laughed softly. “Maybe once or twice.”

“Try every other week.” Alistair pulled himself onto the bed and lay down on his stomach, propping his chin on his arms. “Do you remember what I said to you the night before we left for Denerim?”

“The night where we — “

“Yes, that night.” He grinned. “I told you I would find a way to make it work. And we will.”

Eilin’s smile faded. “Things have changed.”

Alistair rolled onto his side and tugged her arm, scooting over until he could lay his head on her shoulder.

“I’m not marrying Anora,” he said. “I don’t want to. I don’t trust her. I trust you, and I love you. And if there’s anyone I could pick to marry, it would be you.”

Eilin stroked his hair back from his brow and closed her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> No Anora bashing, please.


End file.
